You Better Not Cry
by illuminata79
Summary: Christmas gets a little complicated for Conrad and Henry.


Conrad, Mick's young friend, and his little brother are looking forward to Christmas, as usual, but they will find that some things about that year's holiday will be rather unusual ...

* * *

Somebody was whispering my name. Loudly.

It sounds weird, but it is possible whisper loudly.

I hate when someone does this, and I especially hate when my brother is the one.

I tried not to listen and pretended to be still asleep and hoped he'd stop.

"Conrad! Wake up! Is it Christmas already?"

I didn't groan because that would have given me away, but in my head, I yelled at him that he was old enough to know he would have to sleep _another_ night before it was Christmas, and, also in my head, I called him lots of things Mom would never have let me say aloud.

"Conrad! Hey, Conrad!"

I like my brother, I really do, and sometimes I even love him, but there are some things about him that I just cannot stand, even if I know I'm not supposed to say that because I'm five years older than him and so much bigger and wiser and everything. I often wish I wasn't because it means I always get the blame when we fight and he's about to lose and starts to howl and …

"CONRAD! WAKE UP!"

Suddenly, I was feeling terribly cold. I couldn't figure out why at first but then I realized that the little beast had snatched away my quilt.

I snatched it back, sat up and began shouting at him in earnest, and some of those rude words somehow slipped in.

He just stood and made that face that means he is about to start blubbering any moment, with his eyes very big and his lower lip pushed out.

"Oh, stop it, crybaby", I told him scornfully.

He screwed up his face and squeezed out some tears, which made me even angrier, so I gave him a shove.

It was just one, and it wasn't hard, but he fell over anyway and banged his head on the nightstand, and of course he screamed like I had stuck him with a butcher's knife.

_Damn and blast,_ I thought. That's what Mr. Honeycutt next door keeps saying when he's mad, and I was pretty mad at Henry because I knew what was coming next.

The door flew open. "What on EARTH is going on in here? What's all that yelling and shouting, and who taught you all those _words? _Conrad! Answer me!"

He was pretty mad, too, for he didn't stutter one bit. Normally, he can hardly finish a sentence without stumbling on at least one word, but if he's really ticked off, he doesn't have any trouble speaking. Funny, somehow.

But Dad really isn't funny at all when he's furious, and it surely wasn't funny that Henry got a bump on the back of his head after all, and that Mom was furious at me, too, and that they made me stay in my room all day while they did the tree.

That was a real bummer.

As both Mom and Dad are half German, we don't put up the tree in early December, like Ralph's and Jonny's and Walter's families do.

We do it a day or two before Christmas Eve, like they do in Germany, and although it is always such an awfully long wait until then, I love when the day finally arrives, because it is such fun to put all the little lights and the shiny red baubles and the little wooden figures on the tree, and because it means that it really won't be long until Christmas.

And now I didn't get to help because of my stupid brother.

That was so typical. It's always like that. He starts it all, and then he gets away with it while I get in trouble.

I was allowed to have breakfast with the others, but then they sent me back to my room.

I sat on my bed, my knees pulled up to my chin, my back to the wall, my arms wrapped around my legs. I could hear them chattering and laughing in the sitting-room. Dad tried to whistle "Jingle Bells", and Henry giggled because Dad isn't very good at whistling. Then someone switched on the radio, and a children's choir sang "We Wish You a Merry Christmas".

Merry Christmas, bah!

I snorted angrily, hating them all, Mom and Dad and Henry and even those stupid warbling kids. Hating them so much that I half expected black smoke to come gushing out of my ears any minute.

Normally, I don't mind being alone in our room. I actually enjoy having it to myself once in a while, with nobody disturbing me when I'm drawing or reading or putting together something complicated from the bits and pieces in my big construction kit.

But I didn't feel like doing any of those things now.

Why did Henry have to be so dumb? He knew exactly that I hated it when he woke me like that. Once again, it was all his fault, but he got to help do the tree and …

It struck me that there was something else I was going to miss.

When the tree was done, we always sat down for hot chocolate and a first taste of the cookies Mum had baked.

They'd surely let me out by then. They would decide I had been punished enough and let me have a cup of chocolate, too.

Or would they?

After a while, someone clapped their hands in the sitting-room, and I heard Dad's voice, "Now that's a v-very fine t-tree! Well done, everybody! Emma, I think it's t-time for the treats!"

My ears pricked up, and I waited eagerly for footsteps in the corridor.

And waited.

And waited.

Nobody came for me.

My eyes began to sting. I fought the feeling, for I'm ten years old and a big boy, and big boys don't cry.

At least that's what they say.

Sometimes they do cry after all, I noticed a moment later, horrified. As if everything wasn't bad enough already, I was blubbering just like Henry always did.

I hoped nobody would come for me _now _and pressed my face into my pillow, just to be on the safe side. If somebody came, I'd just say I had fallen asleep.

I really fell asleep after a while.

* * *

It was the telephone that woke me. I was startled when I looked at my alarm clock and saw it was already past five.

I didn't understand what Mum was saying into the phone, but she sounded worried, and then she came in and switched on the bedside lamp and sat on the edge of my bed.

"Conrad? Are you awake?" she asked softly, and I nodded without looking at her.

"That was Aunt Cecilia calling", she said. "We've got bad news about your gran, I'm afraid. She had a bad fall this morning, and it seems that she's had a stroke." She hesitated for a moment. "That means she's very ill, you know."

I rolled my eyes a little, my face still turned to the wall. I _knew_ what a stroke was. I wasn't a baby any more.

"I'll have to be with her, of course. Dad will drive me to the station in half an hour. Until he's back, you and Henry will stay at Mrs. Hudson's."

I rolled over to look at her now and said, "Mum … _must _we?" I don't like Mrs. Hudson, and I don't like her house. It is old and musty and smells of cats and disgusting food. "Can't we just stay here? Dad won't be away for long, will he?"

"After what you did to your brother this morning? No, Conrad, I'm not leaving the two of you home alone. Dad will pick you up when he comes back, then you have supper together, and after that, both of you will go straight to bed without complaining, or else there won't be any gifts to unwrap tomorrow morning!"

Tomorrow … _morning._

Something dawned on me.

"Wait a minute, Mum – does that mean you won't be here for _Christmas?" _

Again, I got that prickly feeling in my eyes.

Big boy and ten years and all … but Christmas isn't Christmas without all of the family around.

I blinked several times, very rapidly, so that the prickling would go away.

Mum looked at me with that now-don't-make-a-scene-and-be-sensible face and said she would be back as soon as she could.

I sucked in my cheeks and said nothing.

Dad went to get Henry, and they dropped us off at Mrs. Hudson's and were gone.

Mrs. Hudson tried to be nice and offered us some very funny-looking biscuits from a chipped porcelain bowl.

I said I didn't like sweets, and after I had repeated it twice, she finally seemed to believe me. And I really wasn't hungry now.

Henry, greedy little pig that he is, grabbed two biscuits at once. He stuffed his face and began to munch in that squirrelly way he has, but his chewing slowed down almost immediately.

His eyes popped, his cheeks bulged, and he made a funny little noise.

I was glad that Mrs. Hudson had gone into the kitchen to make hot milk for us and couldn't see him.

"Henry, don't even think about … _duh_."

He had jumped from his squishy armchair and spat it all into a big flowerpot from which an ugly rubber plant grew.

He grinned at me as he climbed back into the chair.

"_Henry", _I moaned.

What if she saw the mess he had made? I was sure those biscuits had been disgusting, but why couldn't he just have gone outside? Why did he always have to be so hoggish?

Mrs. Hudson came back with two steaming mugs on a tray painted with flowers and chirruped something silly.

I only nodded at her and politely took one of the mugs, trying to smell the milk without her noticing. I was almost sure I would discover it had gone off if I tasted it.

Seeing that I didn't want to talk to her, she turned to Henry and asked him how old he was.

"Five!" he said proudly. As if that was something to be proud of. "And I'll be six in June!"

"Oooh, such a big boy already!"

I rolled my eyes, just a little bit.

A sudden rattling noise startled me. I hoped nobody had seen me flinch and wondered what the dickens that was.

Mrs. Hudson perked up. "Dear me, the telephone! Who can that be?"

She scurried into the corridor, and the rattling stopped.

I wanted to listen what she was saying and maybe try to guess who she was talking to, but of course Henry slurped his milk so loudly that I couldn't hear.

I tried to shush him, but he only looked up from his mug with a white milky moustache above his lip and raised his mug again, slurping away.

Mrs. Hudson came back with a false little shaky smile on her face. "Boys, I'm afraid I have bad news."

My heart began to beat very, very fast.

Something dreadful had happened. The train had crashed when it entered the station. Or someone had shoved Mum onto the tracks and she got run over. Or there had be an accident with the car and they were both dead.

Henry was sniffling.

I felt I couldn't breathe properly and gasped for air.

"There, there, boys. We'll have a lovely little Christmas together, and you'll celebrate again when your parents are back."

"Huh?" I realized I hadn't heard what she was actually saying, and she explained again that it had been Dad on the phone, saying he'd have to drive Mum all the way to Canberra because she had narrowly missed the last train. He said he would be back for Boxing Day, with or without Mum, depending on how Granny was doing by then, but for now we'd have to make do with Mrs. Hudson.

Henry was doing his trembly-lip thing again, and this time, I could not hold back my tears either.

"Aww, I know that's sad", Mrs. Hudson said, hugged Henry to her side and then strode over to the sofa where I sat, grabbed my head with both hands and pressed my face into her pale pink knit vest.

I almost gagged because it smelled so awful, the way old people often smell, of cologne and powder and of being old, and her breath reeked of mints and something else, something sharp and repulsive, a bit like Dad smelled when he drank whiskey once in a while, but much stronger.

For once, I was grateful to Henry for starting to bawl in earnest, because that meant she let go of me.

I took a few deep breaths while she cuddled Henry, who willingly let her, and felt a tiny bit of relief when she said Dad had told her where he had hidden the spare key and we could go home after supper and then sleep in our own beds while she stayed over and Santa Claus brought the gifts.

Yeah, _sure_.

Dad had also told her where he'd hidden the pressies, was all.

I knew there was no such thing as Santa Claus. I only kept my mouth shut about it for Henry's sake, or he'd never stop crying.

Supper was awful, with burnt toast and Marmite and pickles that swam in a murky liquid, like they'd been put in there a hundred years ago. They tasted that way, too.

I said I wasn't hungry and only had one piece of toast, although I hadn't eaten since breakfast and my stomach felt like a big painful hole.

I decided that once we were home, I would sneak into the kitchen and have a good sandwich or two, with ham and cheese, and maybe one of those lovely ripe peaches.

After we had helped her do the dishes, Mrs. Hudson took both of us by one hand and walked us home across the street.

Of course, Ralph and Jonny came whizzing past on their bicycles the same moment, and they laughed their socks off when they saw us. Bloody idiots!

It was almost eight o'clock meanwhile, and Mrs. Hudson sent us straight to bed.

I grumbled, but she didn't relent. "I promised your parents" was all she said.

Henry protested loudly when she wanted to follow him into the bathroom and brush his teeth for him.

"I can do that by myself!" he said huffily and banged the door shut on her.

Sometimes, Henry isn't that bad after all.

* * *

We lay in our beds, both of us wide awake. It was still light outside, and we could hear people chatting and laughing in the Harrisons' garden.

Henry and I didn't dare talk aloud because when Mrs. Hudson had heard us earlier, she had come in and told us to be quiet and sleep. Stupid old whiffy woman!

I tried to read but I couldn't concentrate.

Henry began banging the big head of his teddy bear against the wall, which usually got on my nerves, but somehow I didn't mind this time. He couldn't sleep, and he couldn't read yet, so he had nothing to do that wouldn't make a telltale noise.

I closed the book and put it aside. My stomach rumbled loudly.

"Are you hungry, too?" Henry whispered.

"Uh-huh."

"That food was yucky, wasn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think that was really Marmite, Conrad?"

"Um … what else should it be?" I frowned at him.

"Do you think it was maybe cat food? From a tin?"

"Ewwww … no, I don't … well, I'm not so sure." I swallowed hard. "I'm not so hungry now."

"But I'm hungry! Terribly hungry!" Henry whispered urgently, and his stomach growled like a mighty lion.

"I haven't got anything to eat for you!" I whispered back. "I've eaten all the sweets I had hidden in the drawer. Darn!" I punched my pillow and screwed up my face, thinking hard.

I could have got up and tried to nick something from the kitchen, but that meant having to get past Mrs. Hudson, whom I'd told earlier I wasn't hungry at all.

I said so to Henry, who suggested that we wait until she had to use the bathroom and then lock her up.

"Imagine her locked up in the loo, Conrad!" He grinned gleefully.

"How d'you want to lock her up if the key's on the _inside,_ stupid?" I asked, and his face fell. "And you don't want to imagine how mad she'll be when we let her back out. We can't leave her in there until Dad comes back, can we? And she'd tell him all about it, too!"

"Hmmmm." Henry turned over on his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, his face in his hands. "She's in the sitting-room, listening to the radio. Maybe we can sneak into the corridor and phone someone quietly?"

"And _whom _exactly do you want to phone, dumbhead? The police? 'Help, there's a mad old woman in our house who's making us stay in our beds'?" I glared at him.

"_Uncle Mick_, of course!" He looked at me as if it was most obvious thing on earth.

And in fact, it was.

_Why hadn't I thought of that myself?_

I hated to admit it, but sometimes Henry really isn't all that stupid.

Mick would help us, that much was sure. He's not our real uncle, although Henry likes to call him that. He's Dad's friend, and mine, and Henry's. He lives just a few streets over, and he's great. A lot greater than any of our real uncles.

I got up and opened the door, careful not to make any noise. I was glad that Dad had greased the hinges just a few weeks ago. They'd used to make a horrible racket, and we wouldn't have stood a chance of remaining unnoticed.

I peeked around the doorframe like the detective in my book. The corridor was empty. I could hear a woman screeching _Joy to the World_ on the radio, and another, rather scratchy voice trying to sing along.

I tiptoed along the runner and had almost reached the small table with the telephone on it when the sitting-room door opened.

"What are you up to, my lad?"

"Oh, I … I just need to …" I jerked a thumb at the bathroom door and writhed a little, the way you do when you need the loo very badly.

"Fine, but be quick about it!" She clapped her hands and shooed me away.

I didn't actually have to go, but I went into the bathroom anyway, locked the door and poured some of Mum's bubble bath down the toilet to make it sound real, in case she was listening, and I washed my hands, for the same reason.

She was really waiting in the corridor when I came back out and quickly pulled one hand from the pocket of her apron dress as if she'd just hidden something in there.

An idea struck me.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I said in my nicest good-little-boy voice.

"What is it, boy?"

"Mrs. Hudson, did you feed your cats before we came over? They must be awfully hungry if you didn't."

"Of course I fed Bob and Billy!" she blustered. "I always …" Her eyes went all peculiar, and she stopped. "Dear me, I forgot to give the poor things their dinner. Good heavens, they'll be starving. Poor babies. They always get their dinner at six o'clock. Always!"

"Oh, poor laddies", I said, as if I was really feeling sorry for them. "Shall I go and …"

"No, no, I'll quickly pop over. You go back to bed like a good boy. You go back to sleep, and I'll be back in a jiffy."

I nodded solemnly and went back to our room. She hurried towards the front door without ever looking back, the radio still blaring.

As soon as I had heard the door snapping shut, I dashed to the telephone and dialed Mick's number.

It rang and rang and rang.

My heart went all heavy.

He wasn't home!

_Damn and blast!_

I went back into our room and grumbled at Henry, who looked at me expectantly, "No one home."

"Crap", he whispered.

"You can say that again", I said.

"Crap! Crap! Crap!" he cried and jumped out of bed. "I'll go and get something to eat before she comes back."

He disappeared and came back not much later with a tin of cookies, a big chunk of hard cheese and a jam jar.

"That doesn't really go together", I snarled at him, but he didn't seem to care. He broke off a bit of cheese and dipped it into the strawberry jam.

It looked disgusting, but no more disgusting than supper at Mrs. Hudson's.

My stomach rumbled again, very loudly, and I sighed and said, "C'mon, give me a piece."

It didn't taste half bad, and we sat on the quilted rug between our beds and ate all the cheese and then half of the cookies with the rest of the jam.

Henry burped contentedly when he was finished, climbed into his bed and began to snore softly not much later.

With my stomach nicely full, I also fell asleep rather fast.

* * *

I awoke in the pitch dark.

My neck hurt because I had been sleeping in an awkward position, and I couldn't hear Henry breathe.

Was he gone? Was he … _dead?_

I felt terribly alone, without my parents, without my brother, with an awful old woman in our house, on a Christmas night that wouldn't be followed by a splendid festive day with my mum and dad and Henry and lots of presents and going to church together and then having a nice big roast for lunch.

"Henry?" I whispered, very quietly. "Henry?"

No answer.

I wanted to get up, but I got tangled in the quilt, and one of my legs had fallen asleep.

And it suddenly struck me that maybe it wasn't a good idea to get out of bed at all on such a black moonless night.

Perhaps Mrs. Hudson wasn't an old woman after all. Perhaps she was a witch, or a vampire, or a vampire witch.

Perhaps everyone but me had disappeared from the face of the earth, like it had happened in one of the books I'd read.

Don't be silly, I told myself. That was just a children's story. Laughable, really.

But still, I was cold and alone and afraid of so many things.

That Granny would die. That my parents wouldn't come back. That I couldn't hear Henry because he had died in his sleep. That Christmas would never be beautiful again. That my parents would come back but be forever angry at me because I hadn't saved Henry from dying in his sleep.

There was a tiny little snuffle in the dark.

Henry's snuffle.

He was here after all.

That was one of the moments I loved my brother.

Very much.

So much that I began to cry and couldn't stop.

I pressed my face into the pillow so nobody would hear me, but a big sob came out nevertheless, and then another, and another.

Henry kept sleeping.

If Mum was here, she would have heard me and come to see what was troubling me. Or Dad would.

Mrs. Hudson didn't come.

I wasn't sure if I would have wanted her to, honestly, but I felt so terribly, terribly lonely.

* * *

Again, I must have cried myself to sleep because it was already quite light outside when I woke up.

My alarm clock said seven thirty.

Henry stirred and blinked and rubbed his eyes. "It's morning! It's Christmas Day!" he said and grinned. "Shall we go and see if Santa was here?"

I said yes, but my heart wasn't really in it. I wondered what it would be like to unwrap our gifts with Mrs. Hudson watching.

Henry clambered out of bed and scampered into the sitting-room. I followed him, but much slower. I wasn't looking forward to this Christmas any more.

"Conrad!" Henry wailed. "He wasn't here! There's no gifts! Not even a stocking!"

"_What?"_

I poked my head around the door, and really, there was the tree, big and splendid and beautifully adorned, but the lights weren't on and there was nothing under it, nor was there as much as a baby sock hanging on the mantelpiece.

"Santa forgot about us!"

Fat tears ran down Henry's cheeks.

I hugged him tightly, trying to comfort him, but I was disappointed, too. And angry.

That old cow had forgotten to put the presents under the tree!

And where _was_ she after all?

"Don't cry, Henry. Perhaps Santa got delayed. Perhaps one of his reindeer fell ill, or the sleigh broke down, or he's had a heatstroke, with all the warm clothes he's wearing. Maybe he forgot how warm it is in Australia. We'll ask Mrs. Hudson if she's had any word from him, shall we?"

Henry nodded hesitantly.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I called out. "Mrs. Hudson! Where are you?"

No answer.

We ran into all the rooms in the house, shouting her name, then we banged on the bathroom door and tore it open when nobody answered, but the room was empty, too.

"Maybe she's gone home to feed her silly cats again", I said. "She'll be back soon."

"I don't want to wait for her", Henry sniffed. "I want my pressies! I want to know if she's seen Santa Claus!"

"Fine, then, we'll go", I sighed. I didn't really want to go to her smelly old house again, but I felt sorry for Henry, and besides, I wanted to know where she had gone off to. "Just let's put on our shoes first."

We did that, and we also put on sweaters over our pajamas so people wouldn't wonder why we were outside in our night things. Henry's was inside out, but that didn't matter.

I knocked on Mrs. Hudson's front door, but nobody answered.

I tried the doorknob, and the door swung open.

I didn't dare shout, but I said her name several times.

Nothing.

Henry began opening doors.

The sitting-room was empty, as were the kitchen and the pantry.

I wondered whether to knock on the bathroom door or not and had just decided not to give it a try, when a piercing scream startled me.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHH!"

My heart made a somersault in my chest.

Henry stood frozen in doorway of the bedroom and was screaming his head off.

"Henry? Henry! What is it?"

"AAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHH! CONRAD! SHE'S DEAD!"

I stuck my head around the door and saw Mrs. Hudson sprawled on a big bed. She wasn't moving. Her mouth hung open, and her skirt had ridden up and her ugly knees were showing. There were blue veins all over her legs. They looked like fat blue worms and made me want to throw up.

She did look scary, but she certainly wasn't dead. I could see she was breathing.

I told that to Henry, but it didn't stop him from crying on.

There was a funny flat bottle next to her on the bedspread, half full with colourless stuff, and she smelled worse than ever.

"She's drunk!" I whispered.

I considered poking her to see if she'd wake up, but I didn't want to touch her, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know how she'd react. Drunk people could be dangerous. At least that's what Mum says.

"Conrad, I don't want to be here", Henry murmured.

"Me neither", I growled. I took him by the hand and closed the door without making a sound. "Come. We're going to Mick's."

"Oh yes!" His eyes brightened, and the sniffling stopped. "Uncle Mick will know what to do!"

"Sssshhh." I put a finger to my lips. "Don't make too much noise, and hurry, before she wakes up!"

I was awfully warm now, so I took off my brown sweater and wrapped it around my shoulders.

We went out the back door, down the garden along the hedge and through the gap between two shrubs at the rear of the garden, then we took off running along the narrow path that ran between the gardens.

Only when we rounded the corner into Mick's street, panting and puffing, I realized that there might be one big fat catch to my plans.

What if he wasn't home at all?

What if they hadn't answered the phone last night because had gone to visit some relatives, or away on a holiday?

I bit my lip and kept my concerns to myself so Henry wouldn't be worried.

He darted ahead and pressed the bell push, way too hard and way too long.

I had just caught up with him on the doorstep and was still breathing heavily when the door opened.

"Aunt Evelyn!" Henry cried and threw himself at her. "You've got to help us!"

"Henry! Conrad! What's wrong? What are you two doing here, all spent, and in your pajamas, too!"

Apparently, the sweaters didn't disguise as much as I had thought they would.

"Well, come on in before you explain what this is all about", she went on, pushing Henry ahead of her into the hallway, and squeezed my shoulder in that kind way she had.

"Come, sit here." She removed a stack of magazines from the living-room sofa and said, "It's probably not just me you want, is it?"

I shook my head and blushed because I felt a little bad about telling her that.

Evelyn is very nice, and I didn't want her to think I didn't like her as much as I liked Mick.

"Mick's taking a shower, he'll be with us any minute. Want a drink?"

We nodded eagerly, and she went to get us something.

I sat down on the sofa, and Henry climbed up onto its armrest, something that was strictly forbidden at home but never a problem at Mick's.

I looked around the sitting-room, which was very lovely with high white doors that led into the garden and a cosy fireplace, but something didn't seem quite right to me …

"They haven't got a tree!" Henry whispered loudly.

I shrugged, as if it was nothing, but I, too, wondered why that was. Everybody I knew had a tree for Christmas! Maybe we could ask Mick about it later.

Evelyn came back with two chilled glasses, and we both drank thirstily.

"Evelyn?" Mick's voice called from the hallway, and a moment later he came in, tying the belt of his dressing-gown as he walked. "Was that the door? Who …" He looked around at us, and his eyes grew wide. "Well now, what's _that_? Why aren't you at home, opening your gifts and gorging yourselves with candy?"

His hair was wet and slicked back, which made him look funny, and you could see his false leg below the hem of his dressing gown. I tried not to stare at it, even though I found it strangely fascinating because it made me wonder how it felt to walk with such a thing.

He looked down at it, too. "I guess I should get dressed properly, huh?"

"Please stay here. I don't mind your wooden leg, Uncle Mick", Henry said.

I wanted to scold him, but Mick just laughed, his weird little chuckling Mick laugh.

"That's settled, then. Very good. I'm dying to hear what the … what on earth you are doing here!" He sat on the sofa next to us and pulled the dressing-gown in place over his knees.

I told them about Granny falling ill and Mum wanting to take the train and missing it and Dad having to drive her, and about the horrible Mrs. Hudson lying in her bed, drunk as a skunk, and about our Christmas morning without a single gift.

They listened without interrupting me.

"So it's two young refugees we've got here?" Mick said when I was finished and shot me a little wink.

"What's regufees?" Henry asked.

"People running away from something bad", I told him. "Like us."

"So, what shall we do now?" Evelyn chimed in. "I mean, you're very welcome to stay with us until your mum and dad are back, but we should make sure Mrs. Hudson is alright. And maybe she'll know something about your … about Santa's missed visit. I'll give her a ring and try to sort things out."

I didn't put much trust in Mrs. Hudson about the presents. She'd probably have forgotten all about them.

But maybe Evelyn would really manage to sort things out.

She was a clever woman, after all, very much so. An _academic,_ Mum called her, which I guessed was something good, even if it didn't sound like a compliment the way Mum said it.

Evelyn got up from her armchair and went to make her phone call, and Henry moved closer to Mick and whispered, "Mick? Can we have something to eat?"

"Sure you can. Did that woman starve you?"

"No, but she gave us cat food to eat", Henry said earnestly.

"She didn't!" Mick frowned in a very hilarious way.

Henry nodded yes, she did.

"I bet we can find something better than cat food. Shall we have a look around the kitchen? Are you hungry, too, Conrad?"

"Like a wolf!"

We stormed into the kitchen, and Mick followed us a little slower. He can walk very well with his false leg, but not too fast.

We were busy spreading butter and jam and honey on toast, and Mick was making scrambled eggs, when Evelyn came back.

She looked puzzled, and I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

"What did she say?" I asked.

"She's not answering", she said. "I tried three times."

"Perhaps she's still sleeping. Or perhaps she's on the potty", Henry cackled. "Perhaps she got stuck there."

I rolled my eyes and said, _"Not_ funny."

"Try again in ten minutes", Mick suggested. "If she still doesn't answer, maybe someone should go check on her."

Evelyn tried again later, while the rest of us were tucking into our breakfast.

This time, she was lucky, but Mrs. Hudson was "in quite some state", Evelyn said.

"She yelled at me to leave her alone, and she couldn't seem to remember that she had been asked to stay the night at your house. She said there had been some kids visiting her earlier, but they had gone away, and she had gone home to feed the cats and had a glass of wine and fell asleep." She shook her head so that her red curls were flying. "A glass of wine!" She snorted. "A bottle, more like, and certainly not just wine! Incredible, that woman getting drunk instead of looking after the kids. Just imagine what could have happened!"

"Don't get all worked up, Evelyn. After all, we know nothing bad happened, and I guess we've done our duty by making sure that … woman is still alive. Better not think about her any more. Now, how do you guys want to spend your day?" Mick asked us.

Nobody had ever asked me how I wanted to spend Christmas Day. I had always assumed that everybody did the same – unwrap the gifts, go to church, have a big lunch, invite aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins, if you had any.

Mick and Evelyn didn't have any guests, nor was Evelyn preparing a huge meal or did they seem to be in a hurry to leave for church. There were no wrapped presents to be seen anywhere, and they didn't even have a tree.

Not quite sure what people did on Christmas Day if they didn't do the usual things, I didn't reply.

Henry was looking at me expectantly with big eyes. When I said nothing, he blurted out, "Do all the things you do at Christmas, of course! Get our pressies and go to church and eat turkey and all that. But I guess there'll be no pressies because Mrs. Hudson wasn't there to tell Santa where to leave them."

Evelyn laughed and said the turkey would be a problem because she hadn't bought one, but the rest should be all right. "Oh … and Conrad, can we have a quick word in private?" She winked at me over Henry's head, and I followed her outside, wondering what she was up to.

She closed the door carefully behind her. In a loud whisper, which I funnily didn't mind at all coming from her, she let me in on her plans. We would go back to our house and let ourselves in with the spare key so we could change out of our pajamas. And then, while Mick took us to church, she would stay behind and put the gifts under the tree. "That is, if you have the faintest idea where I might find them. Have you?"

I grinned and nodded, thinking of the top shelf of Mummy's wardrobe where she always hides our pressies.

A warm little shiver ran down my back as I shared my secret with Evelyn, and all of a sudden, the idea of a Christmas that was a little different didn't seem all that bad any more.

In fact, with Mick and Evelyn, there would surely be quite a bit of good in it.


End file.
